A Helping Hand
by mulliganator
Summary: When Vilkas learns that the Silver Hand is using the College of Winterhold's students to hunt the werewolves and is planning an attack on Jorrvaskr, he has to team up with ex-student Marcurio to prepare for the attack. But can the Nord and the Imperial, the warrior and the mage, the man of few words and the man of too many, form a friendship (and maybe more) in their adventure?
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter 1**

Irony only began to describe it.

Silver seemed to be the only thing Silver Hands fought with, naturally. Vilkas never expected them to fight with _magic_. He never expected that he'd be cast head first into a terrifying, surreal adventure that would completely change his outlook on war, on trust, on love. He never expected to partner with a man that devoted his life to the thing that he despises most- magic.

But expectations seldom play out, he discovered while trying to navigate the chambers, subchambers, and passages of the ancient Nordic ruins. He was lost between the dank, unforgiving walls.

He'd notice a certain rock laying about, or protruding from a wall. Just keep going and you'll run into something, he told himself. Three rounds later to run into the same clammy rock. His heavy armor wasn't invented for redundant navigation.

Or carrying a volt of electricity. He'd thought he was struck by lightning. A stupid thought, he decided as he _slowly_ rotated to face a maroon-black-robed figure.

_Mages. Fucking. Mages._

He tried to whip around and jerk out his sword. His armor wasn't slowing him, though. It was worse than when he was encumbered. No, _then_ he could at least walk.

This Silver Hand member had the power to carry more than a silver weapon. A black cloud streaked with purple shot out, accompanying a second shock from a partner. Vilkas struggled to face the coupled Hands in his burdened state. After about sixty treacherous seconds he managed to unsheathe his sword, but at this rate getting close enough to strike was out of the question.

He'd intended reverting to his beast form as a last resort, and it was. The transformation had taken at least thirty seconds-getting shocked to death would take roughly three seconds.

He stood, virtually motionless, and awaited the fatal strike.

The strike came, but not from where he expected. Black-robed weights puffed up a layer of dirt on the ground with two mute thuds. And from behind one fallen Hand stood a lanky yet comely brunette, ungarbed of the telltale robes of a Silver Hand mage.

Vilkas put one foot forward freely but hesitantly and then decided to swing.

"Whoa, slow down there! If I was with them your ass would be _ashes_ by now." The man held up his hands defensively.

Vilkas furrowed his brows and took a closer look at the man, his _orange_ robes. His long hair.

"Who are you?-why did you stop them from killing me?" he asked, lowering his sword warily.

"I don't mind helping those in need of my powers, but really it was more for the ruins."

When felt by Vilkas's confused eyes, he turned away and placed a hand along the crumbly rock wall. "I had to protect this beautiful piece of history from those imbeciles... and I saw that you were in trouble... why?"

His arm still resting on the wall, he turned his head to meet eyes with an ursine beast standing in Vilkas's place. First he jumped, but then-as realization dawned on him-smiled and tilted his head knowingly.

"...Well put. I'll get you out, my furry friend."

.

.

The fact that Vilkas was aware of himself in his beast form didn't make things any less awkward when he reverted. His nude figure laying somewhere green outside the ruins, Vilkas was caught between wanting the man to bring him back clothes, and not wanting the man to see him at all.

He hated that the one thing that saved his life was magic. He hated the concept that nothing randomly appeared for no reason and that same nothing saved him when a lifetime of training, manual labor, and sweat could not. That nothing was the reason his life was endangered in the first place. That at this point, that nothing is the only way that he could kill the Silver Hand.

Well here came a Master of the Nothing with his armor. Vilkas hadn't even realized he was standing behind him until the mage cleared his throat, dropped his armor, and shyed his eyes away.

"I myself don't mind being naked, but really... put some clothes on." The mage teased.

He shivered slipping on his clothes, but the places held by the mage's large hands were still warm.

Fully clothed, Vilkas started on his way back to Jorrvaskr, when the other man stopped him.

"I suppose you'd like to at least know the name of your savior, aye? A name to spread around your home town?"

Vilkas turned back, one eye peering from beneath slathered layers of black war paint. "What?"

"I'm assuming the only reason you didn't thank me is that you forgot; thank the college that taught me that spell instead. But..." A simper played on lips.

"The name's Marcurio."

.

.

Vilkas lay on his bed and traced the stone cieling with his eyes.

Having told Kodlak that he cleared out the ruins with ease, Vilkas found himself awake when his shield-siblings have been asleep all night and the small hours of morning. He ran his fingers through his hair and tugged it. He wrinked his forehead, breathing heavily. He jerked out of bed and fumbled his way to the hall, where he set a chair by the window.

During day, every child playing tag was a Silver Hand come on the defensive. At night, every guard with a torch was a Silver Hand mage readying a firebolt. As the bags under his eyes grew deeper and more noticeable, so did his guilt. The last time he got a decent rest was immediately after he returned from the ruins, out of pure exhaustion.

At several times he considered going back to the ancient Nordic ruins and clearing it out. But that's as far as he went. Considering. It took a mage to kill a mage. AndMarcurio wouldn't be there to help him again. Unless...

Unless he _was._

He couldn't stand being with the narcissist. But worse than Marcurio's excessive pride, worse than his avid belief in magic, was the overwhelming paranoia that burdened him. The rational fear that the Silver Hand was coming out of hiding.

But even if he were to meet Marcurio, if he found him, how could he ask for his help? Even if he needed it desperately, how could he take credit for another man's work? Such things, he decided, weren't as important than finishing what he started.

He remembered Marcurio mentioning a college.

There was only one college that could train a man to have as much skill as Marcurio: the College of Winterhold. It's dwindling reputation was all the more reason to keep his mission private.

Plan in mind, he loosened his tense, and collapsed into bed with the due sleep of a week.

.

.

Vilkas's feet crunched the snow collected on the bridge to the College of Winterhold. He tried to calm his nerves, or at least stop the shaking. He couldn't.

In the distance he could see a courtyard with people in robes sauntering about.

One spotted him and came sprinting down the bridge. "Halt! State your business here."

"I'm looking for a man who goes by Marcurio. He attends this college, does he not?"

The boy gave him a once-over and his eyes turned wide.

He darted back to the courtyard and shouted something unintelligable to the others. Soon balls of flame and electricity encompassed their hands and they all sent a flurry of magic over the bridge.

Vilkas was fast enough to dodge them and smart enough to run. He felt a singe of fire on his ear as he set off. Though his clunky armor slowed him, he hurtled behind houses, then a wagon, and several crowds until he reached the end of the town. Nothing to hide behind anymore, he ran faster.

One detail recurred through his mind as he fled: the subtle maroon glow of the students' black robes. The same glow as the robes now coated in ancient Nordic dust.

.

.

"I was ambushed by some college students today, ass." Vilkas heard a tetchy voice behind him.

Vilkas was sitting again by the window, waiting for the Hands to invade the nightfell plaza of Whiterun when he heard it. He turned to a tight-faced mage leaning against the table. The man's arms were crossed, and his muscles tensed.

Vilkas grabbed the battle axe off the wall with one hand. "I know the feeling. But why-" he grabbed the other man by the robes and pinned him on the wall, the shaft of the axe tight against Marcurio's neck.

"-would they come after one of their own?" He glared into the other man's face from a fixed understare.

"One of their- I'm _not _one of _them_. That was the first thing I ever told you!" He wheezed.

Vilkas pressed the shaft of the axe harder to his throat. "Then why did your college mates have the robes of Silver Hands?"

Tears welled in Marcurio's eyes, threatening to spill. "I can explain. _Please_..."

Vilkas paused, searching Marcurio's eyes for a moment before loosening his grip, sending Marcurio to the floor. "What?"

Marcurio lay two wet eyes on Vilkas. "I _was_ a student. But that was before they collaborated with the Silver Hand. When I was learning there, the college didn't have a right reputation. Near the end of my course, the Silver Hand noticed that. They started training the students under their secret authority. And that was when I dropped out as part of a small group who refused to be Hand mages."

Vilkas dropped his tense and let out a deep sigh. "What were you really doing at the ruins with them?"

"They were holding me there. They can't let someone like _me_ escape with their secret." He gestured to himself. "The two Hand mages I was stuck with saw you, and I seized the oppurtunity to strike. It only seemed fair that I got you out, too. You _did_ save my life."

Vilkas held out a hand to him and lifted him from the dusty floor.

"I heard you were looking for me. They are, too. So... we really are in this together now, even if for different reasons," Marcurio let a slight smile slip, "...but still."

"I'll help you out as long as you do the same for me." Vilkas extended his hand again.

Marcurio shook it before saying, "I've got your back, friend. By the fur."

.

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**Author's Notes / My editor in chief: captainPEDO**


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 **

Vilkas watched the sun set over Whiterun from atop Skyforge. The light and dark seemed at war over the sky, leaving an orange blanket to settle over Skyrim's people and touching the gods with the last hint of color before darkness encompassed both man and beast. He felt like he was Ysgramor himself, watching over the endless stretch of his homeland, and knew that as long as this war was raging there would be no true light for Skyrim.

He caught a letter thrown to him.

"-came all the way from Riften! And it's for your eyes only, my sir."

He turned around to a hurried courier.

Vilkas watched him speed away before opening it. The letter read,

"Got something you'd like to take a look at. Meet me at the Bee and Barb in Riften, and don't let your armor slow you.

-You Know Who"

.

.

"It's only one branch of the Silver Hand" Vilkas stared emptily across the Bee and Barb. "How the rest are dealt with- that's up to Kodlak." He shifted in his seat.

"And according to this-" he laid a parchment on the table, "we only have 30 days to prepare for their attack. But what better companion to have in this endeavor than an experienced mage such as myself?" Marcurio gestured to himself with a sly smile.

Vilkas grabbed the paper and thoroughly investigated it. "How did you get this?"

Marcurio's smile widened. "Quick hands and light feet."

Vilkas lifted his mug, and realized he was out of mead. He called to Keerava, the bartender, for two more glasses.

"Make that one, actually" the mage leaned back in his seat.

Vilkas leaned in toward him. "Scared of a little mead, eh? Would you like to join the ladies over there with some tea?" He nodded.

Marcurio scoffed, "I just don't want to get anyone hurt, Vil. You see, I deal a lot of damage when I drink too much."

Vilkas once-overed him and laughed.

"Nords aren't the only ones who can drink." He turned to Keerava. "Two, then, M'Lady."

.

.

"We've got to get going if we want to make it to Neltier today." Marcurio geared up Vilkas's horse.

"...? What is in Neltier?" Vilkas watched him mount.

"Oh, you know... only the best Alchemist in Skyrim. An old buddy of mine." The other man got comfortable on Vilkas's horse.

"I'm not so sure I want any of your fancy potions, sparkly hands."

The mage's face turned scornful.

"If it wasn't made by the sweat of a true Nord, then I do not trust it." Vilkas crossed his arms. "_Damn Imperials._" He muttered.

"Well" the other man gave Vil's horse the leg cue, "there isn't room for your clunky battle armor up here anyways" and he took off.

Vilkas stood for a moment, merely watching the man escape with his horse. Then he attempted to run after him, his clanking armor impeding his every step. So much for running.

He tried walking, but couldn't match the speed of the horse. After a while the two were a dot on the darkening horizon, lost in the vast forest.

.

.

Riften was well behind him, so turning back would be pointless. But he hadn't the slightest clue where Neltier was, either. He kept walking for about a mile, until he found himself at a dirt patch secluded from the road and encompassed by a thick line of trees.

His muscles ached and it was getting harder for him to keep his eyes open, but he knew all too well what the bitter cold of Skyrim's nights can do to a man. He scavenged for some wood and started a fire in his newfound camp. The fire was a tender mistress, bringing him the warmth and comfort he needed to get a decent rest.

As he drifted out of conciousness, the last week played through his mind. He thought about when he first saw Marcurio, when the man had saved him, the endless nights at Jorrvaskr waiting for the attack, the mages at the college, the flurry of fire they sent at him, how they barely missed him. The fire. _The_ _fire._ He jolted up and away from his fire, sweating. He realized it was merely a dream and tried to sleep again.

.

.

The melancholy symphony of the forest- the chirps of its birds, the the cascading water, the rustling of trees- brought Vilkas from his rest. He could care less about the beauty of it, though, with the voracious emptiness in his gut. He decided that, having no idea where he was going, he had no time limit getting there; and hunted in peace. But hunting here required either speed or silence. But that _armor._ He stripped to his loincloth and set off for a deer, bird, skeever- whatever wouldn't eat him first.

He ventured for a couple minutes, until he spotted a rabbit. He crouched in the brush, well hidden, and analyzed its every move. He moved closer, inch by inch, and got _just close_ enough to... watch it flee.

Something scared it. Something that wasn't himself. He furrowed his brows and looked around. He stood up and stepped forward.

Behind some bushes, between some vines and some trees, standing tall, he saw it.

He froze. At first all he could do was stare. But then, once he realized, he rushed forward grabbed it.

"BY THE GODS! I should just _KILL YOU! _Bastard! What on _earth _are you _doing_ here?!"

He pinned Marcurio to a tree, ready to strangle him. "I... I was looking fo-"

"You stole my horse, abandoned me, left me deserted here!" He gave the other man a look that had made giants flee.

"Hey, now Vil... you mind backing up? You're awful close to me, and not wearing much, people are going to think things..." He said sheepishly.

"People?"

Marcurio pointed weakly toward his left. Vilkas heard the bustling of a town and saw a few people standing around on a dirt road leading there. He let the smaller man go, except this time he didn't fall.

"...You think I'd make you walk to Neltier if it wasn't so close?" He picked up the flowers he'd dropped.

.

.

"Blisterwort, wheat, salt, taproot, hagraven claw, lavender..." The matte-furred Khajiit took each one from Marcurio's hand and examined them, "except there is one that D'Jei is missing."

The mage looked at him in question.

"The tongue of a dragon."

Marcurio frowned and looked at Vilkas- he shrugged.

"D'Jei does not believe that you will find an alchemist in Skyrim who supplies such an ingredient."

Vilkas thought for a moment before looking at the other man. "Whatever good this potion does us will be nothing in the breath of a dragon."

"Oh-ho no" he chortled, "this potion's effects.. let's just say it's the reason we came to the _best alchemist in Skyrim._ Any alchemist worth two gold can whip up a standard _healing _potion. You won't last two seconds against a Silver Hand mage without this."

The warrior grimaced as he felt up his sheath confidently.

"Enough dittle dattle. If you have nothing else to say to D'Jei, leave him to his work."

"We'll stop bothering you, D'Jei." Marcurio gathered his belongings and turned to Vilkas. "How 'bout we head to the tavern and figure things out?"

He nodded.

.

.

The toasty warmth and the smell of fresh food greeted them at the inn. It was enough to make them remember that they haven't eaten all day. The two men sat down at a dimly lit table in the corner and waited for the bartender to come around. Vilkas could see most of the inn from where he was sitting. The place seemed empty except for a lone woman across the room. She caught eye contact with Vilkas but quickly looked away before the bartender took her order. There was something different about her, that he couldn't quite put his finger on...

"Got any ideas?" Marcurio broke his gaze.

"No." He tried to shake the thought of her. "Have you?"

"Hmm. We don't exactly have the time to waste looking for a dragon tongue... but we definitely need that potion. Maybe... Huh..."

Vilkas sighed. "What?"

"Say- you've killed one of everything in Skyrim, haven't you?"

He knew where this was going.

"Well... have you ever killed a dragon?"

.

.

The next morning they went around town inquiring about dragons. They were nowhere near ready to kill one like the one that attacked Helgen. They weren't about to settle for any old dragon's nest, though. What if they got there and the dragon _was_ like the one at Helgen?

They had to make sure it was safer. Vilkas may have been a damn good warrior- and Marcurio just as good a mage- but they were still just two men. It's not like they'd have dozens of guards at the ready like at Whiterun.

After nearly a day's worth of useless conversations with townspeople, they found their answer in the lonely woman that was in the tavern the last night.

"There's a dragon's nest deep in the mountains to the east. Secluded from any guards or people. Though I'd hardly say there's such thing as a safe dragon, this one is rather... weak. It should be possible to slay if you know what you're doing."

"Thanks, lady. You really know a thing or two more than your average _woman_." Marcurio let a sly smirk.

"Couple of adventurous men like you.. kind of makes me wish you'd stay longer. I'd like to get to know you better." She gave a particular look to Vilkas.

After thanking her, they stocked up on basic potions and food at the local stores, as much as they could get without weighing down Vilkas's horse.

The two set off again, headed for the mountaintops of the east. Marcurio sat with Vilkas, not daring to hold his waist, as the horse trotted through the winding mountain path. They rode for hours, in a silence which the Nord would not call resentful, nor peaceful; but mending. Perhaps after the arguing, the distrust, and their differences, that was what they needed. Silence.

Nightfall crept on them. The sky was once again at war, but the Nord and the Imperial, the warrior and the mage, the man of few words and the man of too many, were not.

.

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**Author's Notes - Finally got the second chapter up! I'm really excited. This is probably the funnest fanfiction I've ever written. I'll be much quicker to update come chapter 3. I mean- DRAGON FIGHT! Yay!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 3**

The noon sun blazed over the mountains of the East and shone only through the rooftops of the forest. The branches, thick with leaves, mingled and created patches of shadow on the dirt road and over the two men traversing it.

"Hey Prince Charming, I appreciate you sweeping me off my feet onto your faithful steed and all, but where the hell are we going?" The mage stretched as well as he could on the other man's horse.

Vilkas almost chuckled. "Last time I checked, the knight saves the Lady _after_ he kills the dragon." He stopped his horse and dismounted.

"Why are we stopping?" Marcurio watched him dig in the horse's satchel. Vilkas didn't answer; he pulled out an apple and tossed it to Marcurio.

"Thanks. I'm as hungry as a wol- sorry."

"Not for you, idiot" He sneered, "the horse." He patted the mane.

It took him a second, but then he got off and offered it to the horse, who was hesitant at first but greatfully chomped on.

Vilkas got out some horker meat and split a piece with him.

Marcurio couldn't tell if the way his partner ate was disgusting or manly. Beast-like, maybe?-but his thoughts were interuppted by a distant cry.

"What was that?"

"Sounded like a man." Vilkas mounted again and urged Marcurio on. They hurried to the source of the cry and cringed at the sight. Several charred corpses lay on the ground. The smell of burnt flesh made his eyes water, and the corpses were still burning. The bushes around them were on fire. A bystander was crying out and covered his eyes.

"Dragon! I saw a dragon!" He waved his arms.

Vilkas exchanged looks with Marcurio. "Which way did it go?"

The man feebly pointed behind him and cried out again.

Marcurio turned to Vilkas before mounting the horse. "I think we have our dragon."

They rode in that direction, and the path stopped at a wooden door embed in the side of a slope. Vilkas looked up and there he saw it- miles away, soaring above what looked like it used to be a large volcano and spreading its fiery-hot breath- the dragon.

"This passage must lead us there."

Marcurio pried open the door, causing an avalanche of dirt to spill. It looked as though it wasn't used in _centuries._

Vilkas peered inside, and heard echoes of unknown creatures scuttling in the dank passage.

The journey was exhausting- not because there were that many enemies, but because the cave twisted and turned, looped back and dropped off for every three steps they took. Not to mention that the further they traveled the more prevalent enemies were. When they got into the underbelly of the volcano fire atronachs appeared. They must have been in there for hours, but it felt like days by the time they finally reached the passage leading to the dragon's lair.

"If we keep going like this, we'll be too exhausted to fight that beast." Marcurio leaned on a wall and let himself slide. "Maybe we should take a break."

"No. We're going to keep moving."

"Well maybe _you're_ a battle-hardened warrior, but I'm not ready to go head-first into a dragon's lair when I'm dead tired and sick of walking."

"Get up. We're going to face the dragon, _now_."

"If I go out there like this I won't make it ten seconds."

"I'll slay it myself, then." Vilkas retorted darkly.

"Bullshit. You need me _just as much _as I need you!"

Vilkas sighed and looked ahead. He knew it was just a few minutes' walk until they reached the dragon's lair. He looked back to Marurio, and saw that he truly was in no shape to continue now. And there was truth to his words- Vilkas _did_ need him.

"We won't be here long" He submitted, threw down his sword and sat across from Marcurio.

"So."

The mage didn't bother looking at him. "So _what_" he said drowsily.

"We need a strategy. We can't expect the dragon to stay grounded. You go at it with your magic while it's in the air, and I'll give it a taste of my sword when it lands. It'll be spitting fire left and right so unless you'd like to end up like those corpses, watch out and stay in an area where you can run in any direction."

He looked back at the other man and wondered whether he caught those last few words. Marcurio already dozed off, his head resting on the rocky wall. Vilkas was smart enough to not waste this time just sitting, so he let himself drift off, too...

.

.

When he woke up, Marcurio was already up and eating. He had out some bread and more horker meat.

"Hey there sleeping beauty. Want some breakf-lun-uh.. dinner? What time is it, anyways?"

Vilkas sat up and stretched. "The night isn't young. Trust me."

The other man threw him some bread and meat. As he dug in, Marcurio chuckled. Vilkas had half a mind to ask him what was funny, but decided against it. He might get the idea that he _cared._

But he told anyways. "Has anyone ever told you... you snore. Loudly."

If Vilkas were a wolf at that moment, he'd be growling. It only made Marcurio giggle.

"You don't scare me, Vil. It's actually kinda cute when you make that face."

Vilkas got up and cracked his knuckles. "I'll show you _cute_, little bastard." He stepped to where Marcurio was sitting and yanked him up by the ponytail so he was face-to-face with him. "Fucking _adorable_, aren't I?"

The mage let out a squeal of pain. _"Okay, okay, you're scary!"_

He dropped him and went to his spot on the other wall to finish his food. When they were done they packed up their things and headed on. The last passage leading to the dragon's lair didn't seem to have any bears, spiders, or flame atronachs as they had seen the rest of the place littered with. Just earthy, narrow walls. After a few minutes down, there was a large door. It wasn't actually quite a door, but a giant circular stone he assumed they had to slide.

Vilkas nodded to it. Marcurio grabbed the edge, ready to pull it aside. Vilkas grabbed it, just above the mage's hands and the stone slid with more ease than he anticipated. If he thought the dirt that fell on them at the entrance to the tunnels was an avalanche, they were wrong. Marcurio ruffled through his hair, annoyed with all the dirt. Vilkas just shook it off.

The sight of it all appeared before them. The dragon's lair was the hollowed out belly of the volcano. There were rocky ledges winding up the sides that he figured they could climb. And in the middle, under an infinite, blue-black night sky slept the dragon. It definitely did not look as _weak_ as the lady in Neltier described it. Even as it slept it looked dangerous, smoke pouring out of it's nostrils with every breath.

Marcurio looked back him and said, "Are you ready?"

Vilkas peered at the sleeping beast and said finally, "I _wake up_ ready."

He took five steps and the dragon stirred. It saw the two men and rose its wings menacingly.

Vilkas pointed towards the ledge. "Attack from there, and I'll stay in the middle."

The mage ran for it, and Vilkas ran to the dragon to get a few hits in before it took off. He swung awkwardly at the dragon's shoulder, but it didn't seem to notice. Once the dragon lowered its head he took a more powerful swing at it and struck true, his sword landed in its right eye. The dragon puffed up, and Vilkas pulled out his sword and rolled out of the way before the fire could hit him.

"I think you pissed it off!" The other man called from behind.

He had to keep running to escape the fire even as his armor made it difficult. The fire ceased. The dragon flapped its wings and took off. Lightning struck it- no, that was Marcurio. The mage shot it from both hands and even Vilkas was impressed.

The dragon flew out of sight and he looked up and around the rim of the volcano. Several silent beats passed. Vilkas wondered where it could have gone. With a deafeaning roar, which multiplied by the walls of the volcano, the dragon shot back in.

It circled around the volcano walls, but it couldn't escape Marcurio's blows. He never missed an oppurtunity to strike- he never missed _period._ Every blow was dead on. But after moment the dragon drew its breath and prepared to send down on him hellfire. Marcurio didn't catch this early as Vilkas did, and caught heat before he came to his senses and ran up the winding ledge.

When the dragon finished that breath, it landed to face Marcurio. He must have expected the dragon to burn him again, but it lashed forward and snapped its jaws- he tried to jump back, but fell over- the dragon instead caught one of his legs in its mouth. Vilkas lurched forward and sprinted to him. He heaved his sword over his head and threw it at the dragon. It impaled his jaw and it released Marcurio's leg, then threw back its head with a roar of agony. Marcurio lay on the ground, half-cursing, half-screaming as the dragon flew off again. The damage looked bad. His leg looked like a bloody, meaty mess.

Vilkas kneeled beside him, tore off Marcurio's belt, tied it as tightly as he could above the wound and propped his leg high on a rock to slow the bleeding.

And then he realized- what if the dragon comes for him again? What if it tries to burn him? He can't run. He'd be charred. Vilkas knew what he had to do. He had to kill it- at _that moment._ But his sword was still stuck in the dragon's jaw. He had a dagger, but that was useless, and the dragon was going to land soon.

_You have to think quick._

He looked around. And then he saw a chest near where the dragon was sleeping. Without a second thought, he jumped down and sprinted torward it. Desperately, he pried it open- and thanked the Gods for what he saw in it. It was a golden-rimmed longsword, glowing with blue symbols in the middle.

As soon as he wielded it, the dragon landed behind him. As quickly as he had ever in his life, with as much strength as he could muster, he leapt forward and drove the sword between its eyes. The dragon let out one final cry before dropping to the ground.

Vilkas drew the sword out, pried its jaws open, and lashed off its tongue. He carried it to Marcurio, now unconcious, and dropped it beside him. Vilkas reached in Marcurio's bag, got a healing potion, and tried to give him some. But he knew he needed medical attention quickly.

It took them hours to _get_ here. But Marcurio didn't have hours. There was a town near where they saw the corpses. But how could he get there so quickly? He had an idea.

He put the tongue in the bag, got Marcurio and lifted him onto his back. He concentrated... and the transformation begun. He stayed on his back in wolf form, and he sprinted up the winding ledge all the way to the top of the volcano.

He saw the land stretch for miles at the break of dawn. He sprinted down the side of the volcano, trying not to throw the man off. After a while of nearly tumbling down the slope, he found himself on the same road the corpses were, and followed the path. He saw a town beginning to emerge, and tried to keep running- it was getting increasingly difficult as he reached the town.

Just as he set paw on the paved road, he heard a terrified scream.

"BEAST! AAAHHHHH! FIRST DRAGONS, NOW WOLVES!"

The cry was soon accompanied by others, one of which went like this-"It killed that man! It's dragging him in as a thre- wait a minute- he's still alive! Somebody get him help!"

No one seemed brave enough to take Marcurio from Vilkas, so he gently placed him on the ground and backed up. A guard picked him up and carried him to a building further down the road.

"There's a beast on the loose!" He called to few more men.

The other guards came out and drew their bows; a couple unsheathed their swords. Vilkas didn't want to leave Marcurio, but was putting himself in danger being there. Just as he turned to run for the woods...

He reverted to human form. He stood there, ass-naked, in front of frightened villagers and startled guards.

"_What are you waiting for?!_ Kill him!"

Vilkas ran. As fast as he could, and wouldn't stop until he reached the woods...

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**Author's Notes- Thanks to those who reviewed! I'm still debating whether or not I should slash the two, so any input about that would also be appreciated. Thanks for reading!**


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 4**

Vilkas wandered vaguely in the forest, as naked as the rest of the animals. It was only a few minutes' walk until he arrived in the town where he left Marcurio, but he'd sooner walk into a spike-filled pit than show himself in that town. People weren't exactly _accepting_ of you when they knew you were a werewolf.

He needed to see Marcurio- soon. He needed to know how he was doing. He needed to know he was alright, that they could keep going. He needed to know he didn't kill an innocent man- that he didn't kill the man that would have- and has- risked his life for his own.

He wouldn't mind being naked, if it had not been so damn cold. His armor was still in the summit of a volcano, though. He decided that he'd visit Marcurio come nightfall, where shadow would hide him and he could sneak in. Yes, that would do. Until then, he'd... wander.

He barely heard someone talking, and snuck closer to the source.

"...never enough gold... just need one good haul..."

Vilkas had seen enough in his days to know it was a bandit. He stopped sneaking and simply walked towards him, to the dirt path.

It took the bandit a moment, but when he spotted him he drew a dagger.

"You picked a bad time to get- huh?! He's naked!" He yelled back at an accomplice.

Vilkas punched him in the face and took his dagger. He rebounded with a startled look.

The bandit was just standing there, bewildered. Vilkas lurched forward and thrusted the dagger up his stomach, and twisted. He pushed the bandit off the dagger, leaving his arm sticky with warm blood.

Vilkas faced the other bandit, who looked just as bewildered as the first. The other looked to his accomplice, bleeding on the ground, and looked back to Vilkas. Vilkas took one step towards him before he started running.

"Damn right." He muttered. He kneeled down and stripped the man of his fur armor, mildly stained with blood, and dressed himself.

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.

The next few hours until nightfall were the longest Vilkas ever experienced. But finally the sun set; and the sky was left with the aftermath of warmth, blue and purple painting the west and fading into the black he'd known too well.

Vilkas moved swiftly into the moonlit town, hugging the walls of houses and shops. He stopped when he spotted a villager, then grabbed his dagger and advanced on him stealthily. When he was in his personal vicinity, he grabbed the man by the collar and pointed the dagger to him.

"Where did they take him?" He held the man's face close to his own.

"I.. I don't..." He stopped when he realized who was holding him, "He's staying at Aurel's, the town doctor."

Vilkas gave him the face. "Where the hell is that?"

The man pointed a little further down the street to a tall house.

"You didn't see shit." Vilkas said before throwing him back and setting off.

He crouched around the corner and into the back door. He found himself in a living room, and snuck across it to the staircase.

On the second floor there were several bedrooms. He tried the first, being careful not to make noise. It was empty.

The second was a bathroom.

In the third was a man sleeping in a small bed to the left of the room. Vilkas entered the room and closed the door quietly. As he walked to the bed he saw long brunette hair spread across the pillow.

He saw the face of the man he'd almost killed several times, and knelt beside him.

He put his hand on his shoulder and gently shook. "Marcurio. Hey."

Marcurio squinted at him. He recognized Vilkas and could only look at him for a moment.

"What... Vilkas!" He tried to sit up but grunted in pain, and dropped himself again. "What are you... what's going on? Why am I-"

"-Shhh. No one can know I'm here." He said in a low voice.

"No it's okay. Aurel's not here."

"The dragon nearly killed you. I took you here... You shouldn't remember it."

"Aurel said a werewolf dropped me here..." He looked into the other man's eyes.

Vilkas shyed his eyes away. "I had to. I can't show myself here anymore."

He looked down to his leg. "Is it feeling alright?"

Marcurio moaned painfully. "Aw hell... no. It's not."

Vilkas felt a surge of guilt well up. Could he not even protect his partner? "I'm..." The word 'sorry' almost formed at his lips, but didn't quite escape.

"I.." Vilkas grunted awkwardly, and he couldn't bear to look him in the eye. "Don't die."

A somber smile came to Marcurio's lips. "I won't."

Another silent moment passed.

"Look" Marcurio broke it, "You're going to need someone to back you, because I can't."

Vilkas felt another surge of guilt.

"There's an old friend of mine hiding in an abandoned farmhouse outside Markarth. His name's Alowyn. He dropped out of the college when I did, and he's being hunted, too. He should be with a man named Tolfdir. Go there, talk to him, tell him what we're doing. He'll be glad to help. Oh and..."

Vilkas looked at the comely mage again, and wondered how long he had. He wondered whether he would ever see him again if he left now.

"Don't die."

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Vilkas found his horse at the town's stable and saddled it. He mounted and took one last look at the humble town, realizing how lucky he was to have found it, before setting off.

He'd been traveling nonstop for the last two weeks, which had seemed like months considering everything that had happened, but never took time to admire the beauty of Skyrim. The stars that would guide him west shone brightly, illuminating everything under them and casting a silver glow to the landscape. But for now, he needed to go back to the volcano summit.

After a few minutes of riding, he stopped at the embed door to the passage. He moved much more quickly through it now that it was cleared. Hell, he sprinted through it. The night was still young and he was full of energy. He had forgotten how easy it was to run without his armor and couldn't help but imagine how Marcurio felt most of the time...

He remembered enough so that the loops and drops of the passage no longer confused him. This made it all so much easier to find the dragon's lair again. After a while he met with the stone 'door' they both pushed aside. Vilkas may have only 'the smarts of Ysgramor' but he was still very strong. The door slid open smoothly. Before him he saw the bones of the dragon and wondered how it could detiriorate so much in just a few days.

He stepped forward and saw the odd sword still stuck in the dragon's skull. He drew it out with several _cracks._ What was with that sword? It looked like nothing he'd seen before. He took it with him, and decided to figure it out later. Then he walked around to its jaw and retrieved his own sword.

He stepped up the rocky ledge, certainly in no hurry to see what he saw. Blood stains everywhere deepened the guilt that had been building up. Vilkas had seen hell and back in his days as a companion but never suffered anything like _that._

He stripped and changed into his own cold armor, then picked up Marcurio's bag, the tongue secure in it. Somehow, with his sword in hand and wolf armor donned, he felt more like himself again.

.

.

Vilkas lingered on every stone step before Jorrvaskr. He could only look at it, the upturned ship as a roof, the windows he had refused to look away from for endless nights. The shield-siblings probably thinking he had died.

He summed up the courage, and climbed the rest of the stairs. He placed a hand at the wooden door, drew his breath, and pushed it open before he could let the fear get a hold of him. Farkas was sitting at the table to the left and didn't notice him come in. Vilkas had no idea how he could even go about talking to him, so he slowly stepped to the table and pulled a chair out.

Farkas turned to look. His eyes wide, he was lost for words.

Vilkas hadn't felt such disgrace in his life.

"Vilkas..." Farkas turned angry. "Where in Ysgramor's name have you been?"

He grinded his teeth and gazed into the fire. He didn't want to lie. Not to his brother- but he had to.

"There's a... woman." He blushed at the thought, even.

Farkas looked at him suspiciously. "Why wouldn't you tell us?" He smiled crudely. "Ha! You're redder than a babboon's ass!"

Vilkas sighed. "Met her in Riften. She's really... something. Can kill just about anything with that magic of hers. Has a real attitude, though." He kept his gaze blankly.

Farkas gave a hearty laugh. "But what woman doesn't? What's she like? On the outside, I mean. Surely she's beautiful."

"She's Imperial, quite tall. She's got this long brown hair, too. And these golden eyes. And her laugh..." Vilkas smiled. He wanted to hit himself.

"So that's it. Out o' town courting a lady. Had us all worried for nothing." He nodded vaguely. "That's good, brother..."

A quiet spell took over.

"I need to rest, Farkas. Came here all the way from Riften today." He got up and pushed his chair in, heading for the stairs.

It was pretty late, so the rest of his shield-siblings were asleep. He sauntered to his room and took off his armor.

He had almost forgotten how his bed felt. He rested his head on his arms and stared at the ceiling. What had he just said? It made sense enough to tell Farkas he was in love- it seemed like a good enough cover- but why did he keep thinking of the mage? He... hated him. Right?

He tried to let it go, and eventually drifted off...

.

.

He had a lot of questions, gasps, and angry faces in the morning. He just told them the same thing: he was in love with a lady. One of the remarks, he noticed, were downright rude.

"And she's a _mage_? _And_ and Imperial! Why would you love that?" Aela scoffed, once.

Once he breakfasted and bathed, he decided he'd set off again.

"Why so soon?" Farkas barked, "Is she that important?"

Vilkas turned to face him, one hand on the door. He thought for a moment.

"Yes." And he left, headed for Markarth.

.

.

No more stops, he decided. He only had two more weeks until the Silver Hand's attack on Jorrvaskr. Marcurio had helped him as much as he could, but he needed to move on. He still served the duty of protecting his home; he owed them that much after the lies.

As he left the tall walls of Whiterun on his horse he sighed. It was going to be a long ride. Lonely, at that. But he stopped himself from wondering what it would feel like to be riding there with Marcurio behind him.

He made it to a wide river after hours of riding and was too exhausted to continue. He set up a fire and lay next to it. The stars weren't shining as brightly as the night before but he could care less. It didn't take long for him to fall into a deep, dreamless sleep.

.

.

When he got to thinking about it, Marcurio's instructions were pretty vague. An "abandoned farmhouse outside Markarth." He traveled all to the city's tall doors and didn't see anything along the way. He searched the area again, but ventured south this time. He saw an old house surrounded by stretched of field and a broken fence. That had to be it.

He dismounted outside of the small house. He went to knock, but realized he had no clue what to even say to him. What, 'Oh hey, nice house here. Mind risking your life coming on an adventure and trying to defeat the whole mage branch of the Silver Hand with me?'

He thought it over for a moment, and knocked. A moment passed. The door creaked open a bit, but no one showed themselves.

"Whatchu want?" A deep voice answered.

"I'm Vilkas. I need to talk to Alowyn. Marcurio sent me."

The door opened fully, and a short but smoothly handsome Redguard man stood before him. He urged Vilkas in, and shut the door.

Inside an old man with a long beard sat by a fire. Alowyn pulled up a couple chairs and Vilkas took one.

Alowyn looked Vilkas over and said, "You know Marcurio? You don't seem like the kinda guy he'd make friends with."

Vilkas thought for a moment before replying, "-And you don't seem like the kind of man that would practice magic."

He nodded.

"Why did Marcurio send you?" The elderly man on his other side asked.

Vilkas took a deep breath. He didn't want any of his friends to know about what happened. "He and I are-were traveling together. The Silver Hand wants my blood and his, so we made a deal to protect eachother and defeat the mage branch of the Silver Hand together. We were fighting a dragon in the Eastern Mountains when it got him by the leg. He made it out, but nearly bled to death. He's at a town to the east, in the care of a doctor. Before I left, he told me... to seek you out. He said you'd accompany me."

Alowyn raised his eyebrows. "Will he make it ok?"

"Maybe. I can't know yet."

The other man spoke up. "Did he happen to mention me? My name is Tolfdir."

Vilkas remembered this. "Yes. He did."

"Say... that is quite a remarkable thing you two set off to do. Are you sure you are prepared?" Tolfdir had a look of genuine concern.

Vilkas sighed. "We know that they will attack in two weeks. We've been preparing for a while now."

Tolfdir looked hard at thought.

"Hmm... Where did you say he was?"

"I'm not sure what it was called, just a small town near the Eastern mountains."

"Would you mind taking me there?" He wore a kindly expression.

"...What? Why?"

Tolfdir smiled politely. "I can heal him, for a price."

Vilkas couldn't believe what he heard. "I don't have much money."

Tolfdir shook his head. "I need not money, sir. I only ask that you two carry out your task, defeat the Hand Mages, and sever the alliance between the Silver Hand and the College of Winterhold."

Vilkas didn't need to think this over, not if it meant getting Marcurio back. "We will. I give you my word."

The old man smiled again and looked to Alowyn. "You should prepare our things. We will leave as soon as possible, if that is okay with you, Vilkas."

"Yes. Of course." Vilkas hadn't felt this good in ages. He was genuinely happy.

Alowyn packed up their things quickly and headed out the door.

And so the elderly mage, his secret student, and the warrior began their journey across Skyrim, sure to save the life of the man Vilkas would not live without.

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**Author's Notes: Hey guys! I just wanted to say how much I enjoy writing this and hearing your feedback. Thanks for reading and as always, reviews are encouraged!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 5**

Traveling with the old wizard and his private student wasn't bothering Vilkas. They trudged through the soft dirt etched between the trees, only a few miles from the nameless town he was so anxious to arrive at. It was difficult to see, and he only caught view of the thick layers of trees before them, the sky deep, blue, and untelling of what the night held for them.

Vilkas hurried his pace. If he weren't running into a tree every few steps, he'd have been sprinting. Several times he landed too hard and got his foot stuck in the crumbling dirt. Cursing, he tugged it out and didn't bother slowing down- despite the elder mage accompanying him. He really should have treated him more kindly, considering that the man was about to heal his partner.

"How much longer we got, 'uh?" The young Redguard moaned.

Vilkas could smell fresh smoke coming from ahead. "Not much."

"Someone's got a hell of a fire goin', thas for sure."

Vilkas looked above the treetops. There was a massive cloud of smoke rising from where the town was. Unnaturally massive, actually.

The trees were getting more sparse as they got closer. And the smell got almost unbearably strong.

Then- to Vilkas's horror- they spotted the source of the smoke. Giant licks of flame danced on the rooftops of the town, and the road cutting through it was the entrance to a hellfire. The whole town- now completely consumed by a voracious fire. Vilkas stopped dead in his tracks, and couldn't move, couldn't blink, despite the smoke coating his eyes.

"Mother of..." Alowyn shielded his eyes.

"This... couldn't be where Marcurio was staying?" Tolfdir didn't seem to want to believe it.

Vilkas stood before the disaster, frozen. He started to shake, uncontrollably. He felt something building up inside him.

He clenched his jaw, almost breaking several teeth. He drew in a rattled breath. His face twitched with anger.

He felt so many things then, so many things a man should never have to suffer. Rage was but one.

A small figure in the corner of his eye moved nearer. Vilkas tried to break his gaze from the fire, and turned to another older man.

"I was out picking berries, and when I came back... I saw _this._ I don't know how it happened."

Vilkas couldn't speak, not yet.

"Did you three have anyone here?" The older man looked pitifully at the trio.

Alowyn was the next to speak. "Yes. A friend of ours was here in the care of a doctor..."

"I'm terribly, terribly sorry. I was the one looking after him."

Vilkas let the anger building up out. "Well you didn't _do_ that! Maybe... _maybe_ he wouldn't be DEAD if you had done your job!"

Tolfdir placed a hand on Vilkas's shoulder, which he swatted off. "Vilkas... it was not his fault. He had no way of knowing."

He knew there was truth to this; he knew that it wasn't Aurel's fault. But he couldn't help from breaking down. He couldn't contain his rage.

"WHO THE FUCK SET THIS FIRE?!" He screamed to the smoky sky.

"I don't know..." Aurel said quietly. "But it seemed to capture everyone in this town, except for myself and a few others..."

"Others?" Tolfdir asked.

"Yes. A few men-or women- in black robes narrowly escaped."

_Black robes._ Vilkas thought. _Black. Fucking. Robes._

"Where did they go?" He asked tonelessly.

"I don't remember exactly... let's see, they went that way, so... north."

That was the last thing he needed to hear, before he set off running. He _knew_ who set the fire and he knew _where_ they were headed.

His horse clopped behind him, catching up. On its back sat Alowyn and Tolfdir.

It was clear where they were headed, and Vilkas would not stop until he reached the snowy gate.

.

.

His body told him to stop. But he wouldn't quit, not now that he had come so close, and could see the stark silhouette of the college against the coming dawn as he made his way through Winterhold. No, he had to keep moving. He tried to tell the others.

"No, man. Look I know you want to seek vengeance and all. I loved him like a brother, you know... but you'll just kill yourself if you walk in there like this." Alowyn started towards the Frozen Hearth.

"It is true, Vilkas. I cannot proceed, either, and to do so now would do more harm than good. We could sleep here at the inn until sundown. They would not be prepared for us and we would have strength."

Vilkas may have been mad, but he was not blind. Tolfdir made a good point, so they rested themselves at the Frozen Hearth for the day. Hopefully no one would notice them.

When he got to the small inn room, he didn't bother undressing or even getting into a bed- he simply listened to his body and collapsed on the floor.

.

.

The other men woke him more gently than necessary. He blinked a few times, then sat up and stretched. There was food layed out on the small table, and though Vilkas was not hungry, he ate to keep his strength.

He peered out the small window, but couldn't see anything. Just black. This, he decided, was a good thing.

When the other two finished eating, they took the things they thought necessary.

Alowyn brought a shortsword ("Just in case, you know.") and some magicka restoring potions.

Tolfdir brought a few of the same potions, and nothing else.

Vilkas brought his sword, the odd sword he found in the dragon's treasure, and a few healing potions left over that Marcurio had given him.

When they were ready, they snuck out of the inn and behind the other houses on the way to the bridge. It was bitingly cold outside, and his armor didn't do much for him.

"Watch for any students when we get to the bridges." Alowyn whispered, his misty breath visible.

"That won't be necessary. If nothing has changed since I taught here, no one should be out this late." Tolfdir whispered back.

They kept low as they went through the gates and over the bridges, and eventually found their way to the courtyard of the college. Tolfdir lead the group now, to trapdoor.

"This is the most preferable way to sneak in." He opened it and revealed a ladder.

As fast as his age let him, he climbed down. Alowyn went next, and finally Vilkas.

They found themselves at a dank semi-circular chamber below the rest of the college.

Vilkas had an eerie feeling as they passed through this chamber, and discovered the next was some kind of...

"This," Tolfdir said lowly, " Is a torture chamber. Students generally do not come here."

"I'd be pretty damn scared if they did." Alowyn retorted.

Chains hung on the walls, bones and fragments of failed experiments were scattered, and the room smelled of fear and death. In the center of the room were some stairs, and to the left, right, and directly in front of them were several other chambers.

"What's down there?" Vilkas gestured to the stairs.

"The Midden Dark. That is where the Augur of Dunlain's chamber is."

Vilkas didn't understand any of that.

"-But that is not where we must go. Now, Vilkas, listen." He looked into his eyes- one green and the other blue- "You want to exact your revenge. But you cannot wage a war against the college. At least, not now. We are simply not prepared. But there is one thing we can do while we are here."

Vilkas realized that although Marcurio told him that the college and the Silver Hand were collaborating, he really didn't understand why or how. "What will we do?"

Tolfdir spoke slowly. "We shall kill Ancano."

"Who-"

"He is the advisor of sorts at the college. Many believe the Arch-Mage, Savos Aren, was responsible for the joining of the two factions. However, it was Ancano who..._persuaded_ him into making the deal. He is hungry for power, and will stop at nothing to obtain it, even if it means destroying the purpose of the college."

Vilkas decided that, just as everything Tolfdir has suggested, this would be best.

"How will we do this?" Judging from _past experiences_, Vilkas decided he wasn't the best strategist after all.

"We must sneak into the Hall of Countenance. That is most likely where he would be at this hour. There is an entrance somewhere here in the Midden."

Tolfdir quietly headed towards the chamber directly in front of them. Evidence of sacrifices littered this passage.

After a few more gruesome sights, they found their way to the entrance, a trapdoor.

"Now" Tolfdir whispered, "We must make a plan. First of all, who is going to do the job?"

Alowyn stepped forward. "I'll do it. Ever since I layed eyes on that bastard, I knew he was trouble. I'd gi-"

"Please keep your voice down, young man. You shall _quietly, swiftly, _and_ quickly_ execute Ancano." He turned to Vilkas. "You, you should accompany Alowyn. I will stay put at the entrance and guard you two."

They climbed up the ladder; Alowyn lead. Darkness encompassed the group before they arrived at the bottom of a stone staircase. Crouching again, they headed up quietly. A ferocious blue light shot up, the focus of the circular room, and reflected on the stone walls.

They snuck around the other, doorless bedrooms, and Alowyn gestured towards one of them. Vilkas followed him into a small bedroom, with only a bed and a desk.

Vilkas took his place beside the desk, and couldn't help but notice some papers on it. One that stood out was a thick, assumably new, parchment. What he read on it shocked him-but he didn't have time to read more now. He rolled it up and pocketed it.

Alowyn looked back to Vilkas before drawing his shortsword and creeping over the sleeping Ancano. With one quick, swift strike he...

_missed._

Ancano woke. He jolted out of his bed, and saw what was going on. Alowyn and Vilkas ran noisily out of the room before the firebolt he readied hit them. Ancano followed them out of the room, and they hurtled down the stairs.

At the bottom of the staircase, Tolfdir held the trapdoor open. They quickly jumped down and before Tolfdir climbed down he opened the wooden door to the left of the trapdoor.

When they were back at the Midden, the trapdoor shut, they sat quietly and listened. Ancano seemed to think they left via the door, and they heard his footsteps above.

"Fooled him." Alowyn said with a smirk.

"We must leave immediately. Soon he will have the others searching the college."

He ran through the chambers with the bones and blood; he didn't see Alowyn in front of him anymore. Vilkas ran to the chamber with the stairs in the middle.

He turned around, feeling lost. He looked behind him, and didn't see Tolfdir. He looked right to an unfamiliar passage.

He looked ahead, to the chamber that he thought they entered from; and left, to what he assumed was another torture chamber.

And then something struck him as odd when he looked left. A yellow-orange lump laying on the stone floor. He couldn't see all of it.

Vilkas hurried forward to see what was in there. His heart skipped a beat when he saw it.

Marcurio was spread on the floor. He looked pale and sallow, on the brink of death. Vilkas hurried to him and dropped by his side. What was going on? Didn't he die in the fire?

He didn't know what to do. He tried shaking him. _Nothing_. He placed a hand on his neck. _Cold_. He slapped him. _Nothing._

His leg was bandaged, but looked in bad shape.

Maybe Tolfdir was still in the Midden. Vilkas couldn't call out to him- _they_'d hear.

Vilkas rushed out and went back to the gruesome chamber. No one was there.

He went to the odd chamber to the right, nothing. He sprinted back to the entrance chamber and looked up the ladder. The trapdoor was shut.

_He was clueless._

Vilkas went back to the chamber with the stairs. He looked down, and looked back to Marcurio before jumping down this staircase.

The bottom was danker and darker than the Midden. He rushed through it, and found the elderly mage behind one of the corners. Tolfdir put a finger over his lips and nodded to around the corner.

"Come with me." He mouthed.

They crouched and headed up the staircase. Vilkas stood up and ran to the other torture chamber.

"Oh dear..." Tolfdir knelt beside Marcurio.

"You can still heal him, can't you?" Vilkas dropped to his side.

Tolfdir sighed. "I believe it is too late." He looked Vilkas in the eye. "But I can try. Keep in mind that time is running out and someone will find us soon."

He paused a moment before summoning a white orb which grew larger and yellow, then a radiant orange encompassing both himself and Marcurio.

He lit up, glimmering a weak gold which lasted about ten seconds. Nothing changed when it stopped. His skin was still sallow.

Vilkas held his hand. It was cold.

"I'm sorry." Tolfdir said hoarsely.

Vilkas couldn't believe it didn't work.

"Try it again."

Tolfdir shook his head. "I can't. My magic is too weak."

Vilkas could only stare at him, and hope. The mage almost looked like a corpse. He felt hollow, as though a part of him had died.

"We need to leave, Vilkas. They're coming." Tolfdir got up and offered his hand to Vilkas. He couldn't take it.

"Go on. I'll stay behind." He didn't look up.

"You will die."

"Then I'll die." Vilkas said monotonously.

Tolfdir paused for a moment. "If that is your decision." And he left.

Vilkas felt as though he'd never be happy again, staring at his partner. He held onto his bony, clammy hands- the once elegant hands that had saved his life. He truly didn't know what he could do. He didn't want to accept it.

He leaned in and looked closer at his face. It seemed like he was a different person. The man he knew almost always had a smile on his face. Vilkas couldn't stand to look at him any longer. He shut his eyes tightly, pressed his lips together, and felt his eyes burning. He couldn't control the tears that had escaped, and run down his face.

_If only he watched over him better. He wouldn't have had to leave him at that damn town. Maybe none of this would have happened._

Vilkas still held onto his hands. He was about to set them down when he noticed something- they were warm. No, it was just because he was holding them...right?

Vilkas opened his eyes. The color had come back to his skin. He put a hand on his neck and felt the faint but unmistakeable throb of his vein.

Marcurio furrowed his eyebrows and blinked a few times.

Vilkas was motionless, wordless as he stared at the other man...

And before he could stop himself he placed his hand on the mage's face, stroking his cheek. He leaned in to him, noses touching, felt the other man's warm breath on his lips, his heart beating fast, and pressed his hot lips to the mage's.

He pulled away, face to face with the other man. Marcurio's golden eyes glazed over. The mage grabbed his neck and pulled him in for another kiss. Their lips parted; and their tongues played.

Vilkas didn't want to let go, but he pulled out of the kiss and sat up. "We need to leave."

Marcurio looked around, confused.

"I'll explain later."

Marcurio stood up-wait. He _stood up._

"My leg, it doesn't hurt."

"Then let's fuck off."

He led him to the chamber where they entered and started to climb the ladder.

"You won't leave us yet, slimy bastards!" Ancano and a small army of college students crowded behind them. They readied their frebolts and lighting runes, and Vilkas climbed up as fast as he could. Marcurio sent a chain of shock to go around the crowd. It hit them all and bought him enough time to start climbing.

Vilkas reached the top and the trapdoor burst open. He hurtled out and after a few seconds, Marcurio did, too.

They sprinted out of the courtyard, down the bridges, and through the gate. They kept running until they spotted Vilkas's horse. He got on and helped Marcurio up.

Vilkas kicked her, and they set off at full speed, narrowly escaping the College of Winterhold not for the first time...

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.

**Author's Notes: I'm kind of amazed at how well this is coming along and how much fun it is to write. Guess what? I actually skipped school today just to stay home and write this chapter! Well it's established- this is a slash fic! I couldn't be more pleased to write the two together and I hope you agree. If you'd like, you can tell me how you feel about this!**


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 6**

The trip back to Whiterun was a lengthy one; but it felt better with Marcurio safe with him. They sat upon Vilkas's undoubtedly faithful horse, drifting into a half-sleep as her gentle movements rocked them. The day had come and passed, leaving them in a twilight. The scenery of their trip wasn't particularly beautiful, though. Or maybe it was, and Vilkas was simply growing accustomed to it.

They rode in silence until Whiterun, which had been a block of shapes on the horizon, had grown large. Vilkas looked behind him to the sleeping mage. The other man was exhausted after they escaped the collge, and Vilkas could hardly keep him awake to explain it all to him. Eventually, though, he fell asleep.

"Hey. Get up."

He didn't. Vilkas shook him a bit. "Hey. _Wake up_." He had to shout a bit.

Marcurio opened his eyes, saw Vilkas towering over him, and jumped. He lost his balance and hit the ground with a thud.

Vilkas couldn't help but laugh.

Marcurio stood up, brushed himself off, and tried to mount again. Vilkas sped the horse up, and he had to run to keep up.

"Hey Asshole! Slow down!" He called.

Having almost died or not, he didn't forget about that little stunt Marcurio pulled on the way to Neltier.

Vilkas looked back to the other man, who was steadily growing smaller. Revenge tasted so sweet.

He stopped at the stables, and let his horse get comfortable in hers.

He leaned against a post and waited for the mage to reach him. He was running very fast despite the slope, and it didn't take long for him to reach Vilkas.

Panting hard, he leaned against the post.

Vilkas chuckled. Marcurio tried to make a threatening face, but simply couldn't do it as well as himself.

"Let's go."

The tall door to his home town creaked open.

They walked through the stone path past the houses and shops. It was getting dark, he noticed. The villagers stayed inside and their candles and torches glowed outside.

"I'll get you a bed at the inn." Vilkas led him through the circle of kiosks, to the Bannered Mare. They stepped up a few stairs and stopped at the door.

Marcurio looked away. He may have been blushing, but it was hard to tell. "Uhh...Vil?"

"What?"

"You uh... you're not gonna stay with me at the inn, are you?" He was definitely blushing.

"I have to go back to Jorrvaskr. Don't come there." Vilkas said cooly.

"Well...they don't know you're in town yet, do they?" He said micheviously.

What was he playing at? "No. But that's where I'm going. Goodnight." He turned and left, not bothering to think about what Marcurio had in mind.

Vilkas made his way through Whiterun, and headed up the stone steps to Jorrvaskr, this time less anxious. He swung open the doors casually and took a seat at the table. He had started on some meat pies when Farkas took a seat next to him.

"Back again, huh? Thought you'd disappear this time. Guess not. How's that lady of yours?"

Vilkas took a large mouthful of skeever, then tried to reply. "Good," he said thickly.

Farkas nodded silently. Apparently that was all he had to say, because he left after that.

Vilkas finished eating, and went to his room. After he stripped, he layed down in his bed and closed his eyes- some attempt to sleep.

He couldn't. There was just too much on his mind. He opened his eyes, and looked around his room. His eyes fell on his armor he carelessly threw on the ground. He took a closer look and remembered the parchment he took from Ancano.

He rushed out of bed, grabbed the parchment, and studied it thoroughly.

_ **ATTENTION ALL STUDENTS PARTICIPATING IN THE STRIKE_

_Due to recent information from the Silver Hand, we of the College of Winterhold staff have reason to believe the Circle has gained information on the planned attack on Whiterun's Jorrvaskr. The attack is to be postponed. Please be ready to take orders on short notice, and thank you for your efforts._

_ Sincerely, _

_ Ancano, Advisor_

While it certainly wasn't true that the _circle_ knew, Vilkas wasn't sure if this was good news- but it was definitely urgent. He threw on some loose robes. Parchment in hand, he snuck out of his room, across the lower level, up the stairs, and through the main room. Thankfully no one was in there, and he could leave through the front door quietly.

When he stepped outside, cold air rushed over him; and he wished he'd put on more. He hurried down the steps, though, and across the plaza below. He saw the Bannered Mare and heard the roars of many people on the other side of the door. He isn't going in that way, he thought.

He edged his way around the building and up a ledge directly next to the window to the second floor. He made a quick jump and opened the window. Marcurio was sitting at a table when he noticed Vilkas come in.

Marcurio sat up before rushing to Vilkas. He shut the window and then held Vilkas around the neck. He pressed his body against the other man's and pulled him into a heated kiss.

"I knew you'd come back." He whispered into Vilkas's ear as he ran a hand up his robes.

Vilkas gave him a good smack to the face. "Don't try that shit with me. I came here to show you this."

Marcurio looked confused, and backed up. Vilkas held up the parchment.

"I found this on Ancano's desk. You'll want to take a look at it." He tossed it to the other man.

Marcurio sat down again and read it. And re-read it. And re-re-read it. "What in Tamriel..."

Vilkas sat down on his bed. "Is this good?"

Marcurio looked deep at thought. "Well, it buys us more time. We definitely need that at this point. But we don't know how much. One thing is for sure- none of us are safe. They know that we know. And they're still going to attack. Jorrvaskr will need to be watched constantly."

Vilkas had an idea. "We can get Tolfdir and Alowyn to watch over Jorrvaskr."

Marcurio looked interested. "But they aren't enough, you know..."

This was true; surely an elderly mage and one young man couldn't defend against a small army.

"We can bring in more people while they're there." Marcurio said hopefully.

Vilkas considered this. "Hmm. That may work... Who would we recruit?"

"I don't know." Marcurio said vaguely, but he had a look that convinced Vilkas he _did_ know.

"I guess," Vilkas let his mind drift, "we can worry about that later. Just send a letter to Tolfdir and tell him everything. Give him the parchment, too."

The other man nodded.

He stood up and headed to the window.

"-Um, Vilkas... Sorry about...that...I didn't know you didn't want to..."

Vilkas stopped, then turned around. He made his way right back into the bed.

Marcurio looked an odd mix between exited and confused.

"You're right. I don't." He made himself comfortable. "But I guess staying here is better than sneaking back into Jorrvaskr."

Marcurio settled himself next to Vilkas and yawned. "G'night..."

.

.

Today was the first day since the beginning that Vilkas had nothing to do. He wouldn't be going anywhere until he got word from Tolfdir, replying to the letter Marcurio wrote earlier that day. He decided to spend it with his brother, considering that he was the only companion he truly missed.

He left the Bannered Mare earlier that day, luckily; he didn't want to even imagine the looks he'd get walking across Whiterun in broad daylight dressed like he was.

He was just behind Jorrvaskr, sharpening his blade, when Farkas came out and stood beside him.

"Hey, Vilkas."

Vilkas didn't move to look at him, just kept using the whetstone. "What's going on with you, brother?"

"We've got a new whelp. Why don't you see what she's got?"

Vilkas stopped the whetstone, and turned to look at her. It was the same lonely woman from Neltier; the one that had known a little more than most about dragons. She was looking rough. Scars were scattered on every part of her visible, and her umber hair was unkempt. She was tall, though, and looked as though she'd been in a few fair fights.

She took a long look at him. She seemed to remember. "Hey. Ya gonna fight me or what?"

"Let's get this over with."

Vilkas faced her on the training area. He drew his sword and waited for her to do the same.

She simply raised her hands. Vilkas smiled.

"So... that's how we're going to do it? Bare fists?"

She looked puzzled. "No." A fire was born in her palms, and grew to engulf her hands.

Vilkas laughed even harder. "You want to be a warrior, no? Well true warriors do not have sparkly hands." He picked up an iron sword and tossed it to her. "Use this."

She looked disappointed, and shrugged. She attacked, and actually wasn't so bad. Not great, but okay. Vilkas was able to block most of her swings, but she eventually got the better of him.

He went back to sharpening his sword. He couldn't really get it the way he wanted it, though.

"Hey. Whelp. Take this to Eorlund and have him sharpen it."

She looked indignantly at him. "Oh yeah, I'll just take like I've got _anything_ else to do. And the name is Magda, not _whelp._"

She grabbed it quickly and left.

Farkas waited until she left before saying, "Women, eh? Doesn't take much to piss them off."

Vilkas smiled. "No, no it doesn't."

"You would know, right?" He slapped Vilkas on the back. "Well Vilkas, whaddya say we go get a drink?"

"It's not even sundown, Farkas! Well, I guess I could go for a drink anyways." They walked around Jorrvaskr and down to the plaza. They stepped around the kiosks, and up the steps to the door to the Bannered Mare.

The inside was packed today. There were the usual drinkers and bums, as well as several other groups. Everyone sat around the roaring fire slinging their mugs and their fists, and trying to dally women. There were the horny drunks, the mad drunks, the sad drunks, and the first-time drunks. Something told him this party would rage until the sun came up.

Farkas took a seat in one of the stools, and Vilkas sat next to him.

"Hey Hulda! The usual!- Oh wait, make that double!" Farkas grabbed Vilkas around the shoulder. Was he drunk already?

They got their pitchers of mead and Farkas practically inhaled his. Vilkas took several huge swigs himself. It's been months since he went drinking with his brother, and he almost forgot what a fun drinker he was. This was the first night among many that he could just have fun and relax- but that's hardly what he wanted to do a few drinks later.

He got out of his stool, nearly falling, and stumbled over to Uthgerd the Unbroken.

"Hey...lady! You're a man!" He slurred. "How 'bout you and I, huh? In... a... fight! Yeaaahh!" He tried rolling up his sleeves, but came to the realization he was wearing armor.

Uthgerd was pretty rowdy herself, and took him on. They swung at eachother and landed a few hits well in their state. They kept going, slurring crude insults and laughing. A crowd formed around them with scattered roars. After a while someone else wanted to take her on and he stepped aside with Farkas.

"Damn, Vilkas. That's some woman, huh? Hey... think I should put the moves on her?"

He remembered making a noise somewhere between a scoff and a chortle. "Go for it, brother! She'll eat you up... or actually eat you. Ah, whatever."

He remembered watching that fight, then another. Then Farkas making a move or two on the ursine woman. His memory got worse after that, and the rest of the night was a drunken blur.

.

.

The next day, Vilkas was standing around the sleeping quarters downstairs around noon with Aela, Torvar, and the whelp that he'd preivously met in Neltier. What was her name...? Magda?

"So I heard you got in a fight with Uthgerd. I feel sorry for you." Torvar said with a less-than-pitiful smile.

"Hah. Don't pity me, you slob. She couldn't take me, anyways."

"What... are you saying it's because she's a woman? We're just as much of a warrior as you are!" Aela scoffed, and put one arm in front of Magda.

"Why would you say that? I'm sure _you_ are, Aela. You would not be a companion if you weren't worthy. But that _other_ one..." Vilkas looked at Magda.

Magda looked indignant. "You see the scars on my face, bastard? You think I got those from cooking and cleaning?"

"Perhaps you'd have a few less if you were worth anything in battle," He spat.

"Okay," she laughed, "I'll show you just how much I'm _worth_." She threw down her shortsword, stepped away from the others, and put up her fists.

Vilkas threw down his sword, and then the odd one he found in the volcano.

Magda gasped. "By the gods! Is that... what I think it is?"

Vilkas looked something between confused and pissed. "What?"

She crouched down, looked up to Vilkas for approval before picking it up, and examined it.

"This sword...it's ancient!" She marveled at it.

"Hm. I was curious about it when I picked it up from a dragon's loot." He felt a bit proud saying that last part.

"Wha... this is it then! Chrysamere!"

Vilkas frowned. "What."

"Chrysamere! I thought it was just lore. This sword, it's the Paladin's Blade, the Sword of Heroes!"

"So... why is it so special?" Aela chipped in.

"Why! It's been rumored of for ages. It heals the wielder, protects them from fire, and even reflects any harmful spells cast against them back to the caster."

Vilkas looked as though he just shat himself. "It... you mean..."

"You say you found this as dragon's treasure? What dragon?"

Vilkas narrowed his eyes. "The one you told me about." He lowered his voice. "In Neltier."

She gasped. "Oh, right. I remember when I tol-"

Vilkas grabbed her by the shoulder and led her away from the others, down to where his room was. "Look," He said lowly, "don't tell the other companions that I was in Neltier. Don't tell them anything you know about me."

She paused a moment. "Okay." She still looked curious. "But you'll have to tell me why."

Vilkas sighed. "There are some things," He looked her in the eye, "you can't tell people about."

She seemed to understand as much as she could, given how much she knew. "Okay. But no more of this 'whelp' stuff. It really makes me mad. Just because I'm new to the companions, doesn't mean I'm new to battle."

"Whatever," He grunted.

He left her and went back to the hall outside of the whelps' sleeping quarters to get his things. He passed Uthgerd on his way.

Farkas was just a bit behind her. What the hell?

"Ooh. Last night doesn't exactly agree with me now." She moaned.

"Huh. You're talking." Farkas looked her up and down and silently gagged to Vilkas.

Farkas waited for her to leave upstairs before turning to Vilkas. "Damn. How drunk was I last night, Vilkas?"

.

.

Later that evening, Vilkas stepped outside and wandered around Whiterun. He took this time to think things over.

As he walked through the plazas and stone paths of Whiterun, he wondered where Marcurio was. What was he doing now? Did he get a reply from Tolfdir? He needed to tell him about the whelp, and Chrysamere.

He really just needed to talk to him _at all_. Vilkas knew that Marcurio was the only person that he could actually talk to now. He used to turn to Farkas, or Kodlak. He realized how thankful he was that he wasn't in this alone. Marcurio may be the exact opposite of himself, but right now he was the only person he really wanted. Someone who understood.

He couldn't see him now, though. Not while the sun is still up and people are roaming around. No one in Whiterun could know about the two. It just wasn't a risk Vilkas was willing to take.

So he wandered up to Skyforge and waited for the sun to set again. The armies of light and dark pitted themselves in battle and the sky showed for it. The colors of day bled out in pink and orange, but eventually succumbed to black. The war, it seemed, was pointless. There is a time for light, just as there is a time for darkness. But it happens every day, all around him. Something that he couldn't avoid.

Once the sky calmed to a masking black, he felt free to go. He made his way down the succession of steps, in no hurry. After passing Jorrvaskr, several houses, and the shopping plaza, he met with the mage outside of the Bannered Mare.

"Should we go in?" Vilkas said just quietly enough for him to hear.

"No. Let's go somewhere else." Marcurio seemed glad to leave.

"We can't be seen together, you know."

"Well, let's go somewhere no one can see us."

Vilkas thought for a moment. "I know a place."

He led Marcurio past the other houses going west and through the giant door to the rest of Skyrim. He walked over the rocky terrain to the right of the stables, hugging the great walls of the city. Eventually he found a grassy place with a flow of water running out of the city and into a small pool. Some evenings Vilkas liked to bathe here, knowing that he could see his country stretch for miles, but no one could see him.

The two sat down on a rock just on the edge of the pool.

"So," Marcurio said, "What's going on?"

"That's what I wanted to ask you."

"Well I got a letter from Tolfdir. Here, take a look."

He handed Vilkas the letter.

_"Marcurio,_

_I have read the Ancano's note to the college students. I must say that this is certainly a pressing matter, one which must be dealt with delicately. Now that they are aware of us, we must take special precautions to keep our matters private. Do try to send less letters, in case they are intercepted. And in response to your question, yes. Alowyn and I find it best that we keep an eye on Jorrvaskr and will be arriving not much later than this letter. We will look into buying Breezehome for our purposes._

_I have a proposition for you two. It is not a secret that they are more than us, and without additional help, we will lose this battle. So Alowyn and I have been talking, and have considered this very deeply. Have you ever heard of the Dark Brotherhood? They are a rather shady, secretive group of asssassins. Though in any other situation I would not consider doing this, I must ask that you seek them out in their sanctuary in Dawnstar. It is just to the east of the coast north of the town. There will be a macabre door, it is will require a password: _Innocence, my brother. _Tell them everything, and be sure to include that our mission is to be kept secret._

_Best of luck be with you and your companion.._

_ -Tolfdir"_

Vilkas folded the letter and put it back. "Hmph. Marcurio, I don't know if we should be getting involved with the Dark Brotherhood. They're murderers. I've done my fair share of killing, but they're evil. They kill without honor."

"That may or may not be true. But one thing _is_ for certain. We need them." Marcurio looked Vilkas in the eye. "We need to go there." He said slowly. "I know it may not be honorable, but it's better than having your friends killed, right? Aren't they your friends?"

Vilkas stared into the pool deeply. He waited a moment, and replied. "Yes."

"Then we're going to do it." He said firmly.

Another silent moment passed between the two.

Vilkas broke it. "Hey. You remember that dragon."

"You really think I forgot it, Vil?" He said flatly.

"I found something before I killed it." He reached behind his back and unsheathed Chrysamere. Marcurio marveled at it just as Magda had.

"That can't be..."

"Yes."

"Wow," He said breathily. "Just- _wow._"

"Uh huh."

"You realize what this can do?" He smiled and continued once he saw Vilkas's expression. "This, it'll make our battle a lot easier!"

"Right. But we don't need it now."

Marcurio stopped smilling. "What if we're attacked?"

"What if _they're_ attacked!" He pointed behind him to the walls of Whiterun.

"What are you trying to say?" He said meticulously.

"I'm saying we should lend this to Tolfdir or Alowyn. They'll make much better use of it than we could."

Marcurio seemed to understand. "Okay. How about we leave it at Breezehome, then? They'll be staying there soon. And I know Tolfdir will know what it is. He's the one that told me about it, after all."

Vilkas nodded. The two men sat silently, watching the moon's reflection ripple through the water. There was a certain contentedness in this moment. He knew that there were pressing matters, that there is so much pressure on him to do the right thing. But he knew he wasn't alone.

"Tell me," Marcurio looked deeply at Vilkas, who didn't turn his gaze, "You have no family, do you?"

"My brother Farkas and I were left to the Companions by Jurgen Windcaller. Whether he was our father or not, I don't care. The Companions are my true family. I'll do anything to protect them."

Marcurio sighed. "I was an only child, and both of my parents died. The closest thing to a family I've ever had was the college. And now..." He shook his head.

Vilkas saw Marcurio in a new light. Maybe... they weren't all too different.

Marcurio yawned.

"Tired, are you? Maybe you'd ought to head back to the inn."

Marcurio rubbed his face. "No... I've been holed up in there all day. I think... I'd just like to sleep here." He loosened his tense and left the rock they were sitting on, then laid himself in the soft patch of grass above it.

"Under the stars, eh? Not a bad idea." Vilkas joined him in the grass, and relaxed.

He looked over to see the mage drifting away dreamily.

Vilkas didn't fall asleep as quickly as Marcurio. He layed half-awake, thinking.

He remembered when he first met Marcurio. How he was disgusted by his magic. He had hated how the other man was so full of himself.

And then he realized how shallow it all was. How stupid it was to judge a man by how he chooses to defend himself, or how he speaks.

It was stupid of him to think that this man, who too is losing his true family, and would do unspeakable things to get them back, could be any different than himself because of those shallow things.

So it used to be that no matter how much Vilkas despised the other man, he needed him. And now, he thought, he doesn't just need him anymore.

He wants him.

.

.

**Author's Notes: Hey! This is the longest chapter by far, and it required a lot of editing; so that's why it came later than the others. Also, I've tweaked the first chapter. (I noticed how redundant or confusing some parts were and how they sometimes dragged). **

**On part of the story itself, I have to say that I absolutely hate implementing my own characters into the story (it seems wrong to me), so forgive me. I try to make them bearable.**

**I also want to say thanks again for all the feedback I've been getting, it really keeps me going!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 7**

Marcurio grabbed the mass of flesh out of the cloth. The lingering wetness and fermented smell stuck to his hands and clothes as he did this.

"It's been a while, Vilkas. You think it'll be okay?" He asked, staring down at the mushy lump Vilkas laid on the table.

"Yeah, it's fine. Just put it in." Vilkas grunted.

"Are you sure? Honestly, I think we should have done this earlier. I think the dragon's tongue is supposed to be fresh for the potion..."

Vilkas lifted the tongue himself, and crammed it in the nearby crate. He too was left sticky with old saliva.

"There. I'm sure it will be fine." He forced the crate into the other man's hands. "Now send that over to the courier."

"I am an _apprentice mage_. Not a _pack_ mule- oh, very well."

The mage left out the door with the crate, and Vilkas stayed behind in Breezehome.

"Ah, did Marcurio leave? Alowyn has just finished preparing our lunch." The elderly mage stepped out from behind the stairs holding a platter of meat pies.

Vilkas sat at the log seat with Tolfdir and ate some. It was true that he ate rather... wolfishly.

Alowyn joined them soon and the three sat together, waiting for the mage to get back so they could talk about their plans.

There were several awkward moments in which Vilkas couldn't think of anything to say- but it wasn't as though he wanted to talk, anyways. In truth, there were very few moments in which Vilkas actually wanted to talk to anyone. His interaction with others was a valuable thing, which he didn't plan on wasting on meaningless conversation with people he did not like.

He didn't even bother making eye contact: it begged for dialogue. So he sat.

Marcurio burst through the door after about fifteen long minutes, breathing heavily.

"That courier. Took one look at the crate and ran. But I caught him. Can't say I blame him, though..."

He settled himself next to Vilkas.

Tolfdir looked around and nodded. "It appears we are all here. You two will have to leave quite soon if you plan on getting to Dawnstar before dusk, so I will make this quick." He notioned to Chrysamere resting in the corner. "Thank you two for acquiring this great artifact. It will definitely aid in the security of Jorrvaskr against any sudden moves.

"And I know you may be hesitant about seeking help in the area of the Dark Brotherhood, as I was quite uncertain myself whether we should delve into such matters. But I can assure you that it is what we must do. Do you remember where the sanctuary is?"

Marcurio nodded.

"Well. Do you remember the password?"

He nodded again.

Tolfdir smiled vaguely. "I cannot assure that they will be welcoming or willing to accept our request; but you must press on. It is our only choice." Tolfdir drew a deep breath and smiled again.

"Good luck, gentlemen."

.

.

Vilkas had already forgotten where the sanctuary was by the time they reached Dawnstar. The cold seeped into his armor and made a feeble attempt to bite his leather-tough skin. He watched his own breath pour out of his mouth, his nose, and disperse into the snowy wind tumbling over the low slopes of the city.

Marcurio rubbed himself furiously in some attempt to relieve the numbing coldness, a mere several layers of cloth separating himself from the northernmost climate of an already northern country.

"Wherever we are going," Vilkas spoke in numb quivers, "let us get there quickly."

Marcurio didn't respond; he simply marched forward, one snow-drenched boot in front of the other. They crossed an ice-coated bridge slickly, Vilkas's feet nearly overlapping in his haste gait. He took a few more steps, landing on the ball of his foot, then twisting on it, then trying to steady himself; before falling and breaking the hard ice cap of the water.

He sunk for a moment, his head well below the thickly chill water, before shooting one hand out of the water to the edge of the bridge.

He caught a firm grip, then another, and steadily rose out of the water. He planted both feet on the bridge again and pushed his drenched hair out of his face. His war paint running, he simply walked on.

"You amaze me Vilkas," Marcurio was obviously keeping his laughter at bay, "I mean, that kind of thing takes the manhood from most men." He could barely contain it at this point. "_If you know what I mean_."

Vilkas's mouth twitched, whether out of anger or mirth he did not know. Marcurio let his suppressed laughter out loudly. Louder, Vilkas decided, than he liked.

He stopped for a moment to let the other man catch up to him. When they were side-by-side Vilkas thrust him off the bridge in one swift movement.

He looked down at the mage, thrashing in the water and chunks of ice flying. Marcurio eventually found a grip on the edge of the bridge, and pulled himself out. He stood tall and steady, the smile effectively stolen from his face and given to Vilkas.

Vilkas glanced him up and down, especially down, and stole too his mirth.

Marcurio glared coldly. "Let's get the hell out of here."

They left the bridge and followed the dirt trail for a good mile until they reached the northern coastline. The two stepped over smooth rocks and crunched the frozen dirt on their way east. They hurried their pace when the wind numbed their soaked skin.

A rocky outcrop blocked Vilkas's view of what lay ahead. As he edged his way around it, the door to the sanctuary stood a stark black against the blinding white. The two men passed the outcrop and slowed as they met the macabre door.

They were clueless when they approached the door. Marcurio stepped forward, and asked vaguely to the red-glowing skull, "May I come in?"

They stood clueless for a moment, before a whisper that seemed so close to the men's own ears broke the silence, "What... is life's greatest illusion?"

Vilkas remembered one thing Tolfdir had told him: "_It will require a password."_ But he remembered only that much. He looked to Marcurio, who seemed to have his wits about him.

He stepped closer and replicated the breathy whisper of the door. "Innocence, my brother."

Vilkas remembered his vision fading to black and before his hearing could go with it, the same misty voice.

"Welcome... home."

.

.

Vilkas woke roughly the same way he fell- blind, but not deaf. He was dry, though. And warm. He was curled on the soft floor. He wasn't alone, either; when he tried to sit up, someone spoke.

"We," a woman was speaking- to him?- "are not warriors, unlike you. We are assassins. Children... to the Night Mother."

Her voice was definitely one he had heard before.

"And what convinces me that you can become one of her children?" She chuckled softly, "Well, nothing... yet."

Vilkas felt her grab his hand, turn it over. She placed something with a small handle in his palm, and wrapped his fingers over it.

"If you want to join our family, you must prove yourself an assassin."

He didn't have to hear, see, or feel anymore, to know what he was holding.

"I didn't come here to join your family. I only want to make a deal." He spoke carefully.

She chuckled again. "I know who you are, and what you want. And I wouldn't be surprised if you knew me, too..."

He did know her- that voice. But no, it didn't make any sense...

"That's why I brought you here. If you truly want our aid in something so large, you'll have to join our family. The least you can do now is prove you are worthy."

Vilkas wasn't sure he wanted to be 'worthy' of some demented cult. But he knew he needed to be at this point. Gods know what would happen otherwise...

"What do I need to do?" He asked, though he almost knew.

"You have in your hand a dagger. With it you will put to death this man. Simple enough, isn't it?"

_What man?_

She grabbed the cloth from the back of his head, and untied it. He was in a dark room (a shack?) which looked unused for the better part of a decade. Who he saw before him affirmed his suspicions.

Magda, the lonely, scar-faced woman, the _whelp_, towered over him.

But that was nothing, when he turned to his right and saw another man, lanky under his shabby robes and with tied wrists to match a bagged head. Brown hair spilled from the cloth bag and over his shoulders.

"Stand up, Vilkas."

He did as told in an almost mechanical way.

"You know what you have to do. Do it and our pact will be official."

He tightened his grip on the dagger, his palms growing sweaty. He knew that man, up, down, throughout, and sideways...

He heard muffled gagging from beneath the bag.

Vilkas felt a pit of rage rise in his gut. Who the hell did she think she was, trying to make him murder Marcurio? Like he actually believed being part of her sick cult was more important than the life of his swain?

And after a moment's thought, it was true. He _did_ know what he had to do. He turned around sharply, and thrust the dagger in her direction. She narrowly blocked it with her plated gauntlet.

"Well, Vilkas. I didn't expect that of you. But then again, I don't think I quite expected you to kill your mate, either...

"I'd say, you pass. I needed to know you were willing to take the life of an innocent person. I'm no saint, but that will definitely do."

Vilkas was half a thought away from picking the dagger up and trying again, but stopped himself. He may hate this woman, but he did after all need her. So he turned heel again and ripped the bag from Marcurio's head. He was still bonded, so Vilkas tore the rope from his wrists.

The first thing Marcurio did was grab the gag out of his mouth. "Bitch! You... you.."

"Welcome to the family, boys."

.

.

The inside of the sanctuary was quiet and dank. The two sat at a long dinner table surrounded by a staircase, with them Magda and a pissy-looking Redguard man. There was an air of uncertainty between the four.

"Nazir, I'd like you to meet our newest members." Magda notioned to the two.

Nazir shot a cold glance at Marcurio, then Vilkas. "How in the hell did you end up with these fools?"

In any other situation this would make Vilkas mad as hell, but he knew exactly where the man was coming from. The whole pact with him and the _Dark Brotherhood_. He couldn't think of anything more unnatural.

Marcurio crossed his arms and looked at Nazir through the corner of his eye. "Shit happens."

"That," Magda put one hand on the table "is what we need to discuss."

The sooner they got it out, the sooner they could leave this awkward conversation.

"Do you treat all your contract givers to candle-lit dinners?" Marcurio smirked grimly.

She forced a smile. "Not everyday we get a contract like this. So that's why we need to discuss what role exactly the Dark Brotherhood will play in the battle."

"Okay, lady. You and your cult friends keep an eye on the Silver Hand. Figure out what they're up to, especially with the College of Winterhold. And keep another eye on Jorrvaskr. They're the ones we _don't_ want to die."

She nodded. "Anything else?"

Vilkas spoke up. "Don't try anything until they do. Otherwise, you'll stir up more trouble. We don't want that. And the moment they set foot in Whiterun, Ancano gets the dagger."

"Ancano?" She inquired.

"The Arch-Mage's advisor." Marcurio answered. "You shouldn't have trouble finding him at the college, the way he flaunts himself."

"Okay. And just so you'll know, we won't be doing anything ourselves. We have... people." She looked to Nazir.

"And you- or- _they'll _keep hidden?" Marcurio asked warily.

"As always, brother."

Nazir left just as she finished that, up the staircase in the wall.

"Do you two want rooms? Or..." She chuckled, "_a_ room?"

Vilkas was about to reject her offer, but realized he didn't have the money for an inn _plus_ the supplies they needed.

"...Sure."

She got up and led them to a dark room scattered with boxes and a few bed rolls laying around them. This was obviously some kind of old storage room; dust coated everything and hung in the places mold hadn't covered. Magda shut the door on her way out, stirring up more dust.

Marcurio winced when he saw it.

"Would you rather be outside?"

The other man thought for a moment, then turned heel and shut the door behind him.

"Hmph." Vilkas edged around the small maze of boxes and made himself comfortable in one of the hard bedrolls. For a good while he ignored the stale smell and the coldness and let himself ease out of consciousness. He hadn't realized how stiff he was until he just let go. It felt good...

The next hour was a constant battle between staying cozy in his bedroll getting the sleep he needed, and wondering just what the hell Marcurio was doing. Surely he went outside, but why? The northern coast was probably the coldest place in Skyrim, and it was _night_.

He'll get sick out there, Vilkas thought. That's the last thing he needs now, for that man to freeze to death and have to be tended to constantly.

_It will only take a few minutes. Just bring him in here and you'll be good._

.

.

The night was dark and anything but young when Vilkas stepped outside. From the rocky northern coast, to the endless sea beyond, to the infinite sky, everything was cast under a film of pearly black. He meandered around the rocky outcrop and set sights on the mundane coast. Frozen dirt broke beneath his feet and with each step he wandered a bit further in the coastline. The lulling tides came and went, rushing over his feet the deeper he went.

He looked ahead and saw Marcurio standing, still, waist-deep in the frozen water. Vilkas wondered why any sane man would do that...

He waded deeper into the water, more than thirty feet from the coastline, until he was behind the mage.

"Marcurio," He called out to him. "What are you doing?"

He didn't respond; just stood still. Vilkas pressed forward, each step getting thicker. And then he too was waist-deep next to the other man.

"What are you doing out here? You'll freeze to death."

Marcurio's outward gaze was fixed, and he didn't move.

"Answer me, Marcurio."

He blinked a few times, then took a deep breath.

"What the hell is your problem, Vilkas?" He spoke in a quiet way Vilkas had never heard him.

"What?"

"Really. What the _hell_." He broke his gaze and turned to Vilkas. "What am I to you?"

Vilkas didn't understand at all.

"Well? _What?_ Am I still a tool in your scheme? Or am I your friend? Or a toy, something to let your anger out on?"

"Marcurio..."

"No, okay? You can't _do that_ to me. You can't just threaten to kill me on a daily basis, then go along like we're the best of friends, just to drag me along and never tell me anything." His voice began to quiver.

"That isn't how it-"

"-and what the hell was _that_? At the college, when you kissed me?" His voice was distorted with tremors. "And when I want _you_, you just push me away!"

Vilkas couldn't think of anything to say. He'd never considered how everything would affect Marcurio. It was stupid of him to assume that the other man was willing to just go with it all.

Tears spilled down Marcurio's face now and he fought the tremor in his voice to say, softly, "What _am I to you?"_

There was nothing that Vilkas could say to justify the way he'd been with Marcurio. He reached out, grabbed the other man by the waist, and held him tightly.

Vilkas wouldn't let go of him. He murmured gently in his ear, "What you are to me...

"...is the only reason I can still fight this battle."

Vilkas had said this before thinking. But even if he'd thought for a year, he'd still say the same thing, because at that moment, it was true. He had lost family before, and he'd might as well have lost his shield-siblings, but the moment he thought he'd lost Marcurio, he'd believed he couldn't go on.

Marcurio feebly held Vilkas's neck. He started to say something, but Vilkas beat him, grabbing the other man's face and leaning in closer. He rubbed his firm lips over the other man's soft ones, and gently teased them open. Vilkas snuck his tongue in and played with the other man's, and soon they were going hard at eachother. Marcurio wrapped both his arms around the other man tightly and Vilkas held him close enough to feel his heartbeat, his hands exploring the mage's slim figure.

"Bastard..."

Vilkas could hear him smile.

"You will die out here. Let's go back inside, eh?"

.

.

Vilkas soaked a rag in the bucket of cold water, the mage laying up in one of the bedrolls. He rung it out and sat by him. Marcurio's skin was milk white and beads of sweat formed on his forehead. His hazy eyed wandered to Vilkas as he laid the wet rag on his forehead.

"Thanks..." He said, barely moving his mouth.

"Don't thank me, " Vilkas said with an undertone of guilt, "I pushed you in the lake."

He laughed weakly. "Worth it... besides, that probably wasn't it, anyways. I mean, I was standing in the coast for a while, too."

Vilkas stretched his legs out, wondering about the rest of the day. "We aren't leaving for Whiterun. Not yet."

"Yeah, thanks, Vil." His voice trailed off lazily.

Vilkas went out to the room with the table for breakfast. Ham, biscuits, fruit, and pies covered the table. He made himself a plate, then guessed as to what Marcurio would want. One plate in each hand, he made his way through the halls back to the storage room.

He kicked open the door, careful not to spill the food, and set the plates down beside Marcurio.

"Thanks, Vilkas. I'm hungry as a wo-" He saw Vilkas's expression. "I really need to stop saying that."

Marcurio ate ravenously. By the time he was finished, it was impossible to tell what was on his plate in the beginning.

He sat idly while Vilkas was still eating.

"Say, uh... you don't mind bringing me another plate, do you? I'm just _really_ hungry."

Vilkas stopped, and put his plate down. "Fine."

"Th-"

"-_If you thank me one more time_, I will _throw you in the lake again_."

Vilkas spent the rest of that day running around the sanctuary for Marcurio. Every minute, he was tending to the man. When he wanted to go to the training room? Marcurio needs another rag. He wants to take a piss? Marcurio is hungry again. And what about if he wants some rest? Nope. Marcurio is still hungry. Needless to say, he was fed up by that evening.

"As much as I would _love_ to stay and run more errands for you, I need to get some things for the road. _Bye_."

.

.

The next day, once Marcurio had admitted to feeling better ("Well enough to kill another dragon!") they set off for Whiterun. They were just about ten miles in when they hit a crossroad.

"Hey, Vilkas," Marcurio pointed to the signs, one pointing left which read _Whiterun_, "We're supposed to go east."

The two were walking down the winding path going south when they arrived at the sign.

"I know a shortcut." Vilkas tugged his horse's bridle to the right, leading her along the alternate path.

Marcurio looked around, then hesitated, but followed him behind his horse.

"Whatever. Just try not to walk into any spike-filled pits or filthy skeever dens."

The new path was more difficult to follow; it was rocky and steep at some points. Vilkas had special trouble trying to lead his horse along as they practically tripped over themselves going down.

"Why did you choose _this_ way?" Marcurio cried after nearly slipping on the dusty slope.

Vilkas was _sure_ this was the shortcut. But it wasn't quite as he remembered it...

He edged forward carefully, though, bridle in one hand. But then he couldn't pull it anymore; he turned around to see his horse caught behind a particularly steep drop, and she refused to move forward. He led her around the drop to a better route and she reluctantly followed.

They pressed on. The paths were less clearly cut and the slope spread out. Tall, brooding trees hung over them, most of which were dead. The land was so jagged and the vegetation so thick they couldn't see much more than thirty feet.

Marcurio peered at Vilkas, his arms crossed. "Just admit it. We're lost."

Vilkas looked around at the untraversable wasteland, a melancholy forest of gray, and realized he didn't know which direction they even came from.

"Would you like to lead, then?" Vilkas was only half-sarcastic.

Vilkas stopped for a moment and tried to gather his thoughts. They came down from a hill- but no, they were _surrounded_ by hills. He remembered a sharp drop in one. Maybe if he could just find it again...

It was nowhere in sight.

What was he going to do? If they pressed on, they might find their way back to a road. Or get even more lost. It wasn't safe to go anywhere. He was just standing there, thinking, when he heard it in the distance behind him.

The faint, yet unmistakable cry of a wolf.

"Did you hear that?" Marcurio asked, turning his head around.

It would be okay, he thought at first. He can handle a wolf, no problem. But there was one thing he knew, and could be sure of. Seldom is a _lone_ wolf. Where there is one, there are more to follow.

It's not as though he hasn't killed a pack of wolves before. They're just beasts. He, after all, was a man.

But what about Marcurio? He can only attack from a distance. And it's not exactly _easy_ to put distance between yourself and a hungry wolf.

"We need to leave." Vilkas tugged the horse's bridle and hastily moved away from the sound.

Marcurio was quick to follow, and looked shaken himself.

They winded through the thick forestry and uneven ground, trying to match their speed with only stealth. It was getting difficult with his obstinate horse stopping at every rock.

The land began to drop again, and he could see for the next mile. He squinted, and spotted an odd clump of branches, leaves, and dirt. There was something unnatural about it...

He ran as fast as he could without slipping, and left his horse behind. If she followed, she followed. If not, then... better her than Marcurio or Vilkas.

Marcurio didn't have trouble keeping up. He jumped over the larger rocks and slid down the dirt patched nimbly.

"What's the rush?" He asked, trying not to shout.

"I think..." Vilkas stopped again, and tried to see the clump again, "I see something."

"What is it?" Marcurio asked, now by Vilkas's side.

"It could be..." Vilkas set off again, and looked around quickly before he stood in front of it. He grabbed a few of the branches and threw them out of the pile. Then he cleared off some dirt to reveal a wooden panel.

"_What are you doing?"_

Vilkas cleared off more dirt eagerly. His hand slid on something small and hard. _ A handle_. He grabbed it and pulled up. The wooden panel budged a bit before opening up entirely to reveal an underground shelter.

He looked up at Marcurio, then down into the depth of the shelter. "Better than a spike-filled pit or a filthy skeever den, eh?" He jumped down.

He stumbled a bit in the pitch-black darkness, and held a wary arm before him. And suddenly the whole place lit up. Vilkas turned around to see the mage, a bright firebolt in each hand.

"Pretty _glad_ you have me now, huh, Vil?" He said with a smirk. Vilkas couldn't help but smile.

He could see the whole place now. There was, thankfully, a fire pit near where they came. In two of the walls were large benches embed. They were just about set for the night.

"I'll go get something to burn, alright?" The other man climbed out of the shelter, leaving him in the dark again.

Vilkas sat on the cold floor and waited. And waited. He could only smell the musty damp of the shelter and hear the rustling of trees. Occasionally he'd hear the other man crunching the leaves above him, crossing here and there. The noise grew louder, and...more. What was the rush? He heard the distant thump of many small feet, and felt his heart stop for a moment.

He jolted up, and grabbing his sword, ran to the entrance of the shelter, then caught the edge and pulled himself up. He turned desperately to find the mage. He was nowhere to be seen.

He couldn't call out. That was just a dinner cry for the menacing creatures. He looked around more, and started towards a cluster of branches laying on the ground. Maybe he'd dropped them there?

Vilkas could see the beasts' silhouette on the edge of the forest moving, coming closer. He stood frozen, Marcurio nowhere in sight. They were larger than any natural wolves he had seen, nearing his own size when transformed...

The wolves came nearer, winding around the trees and dispersing around him, but Vilkas still couldn't move. They surrounded him, and several emerged from behind the thick trees. They inched nearer, snarling, their dreadful teeth glinting...

Everything flashed white for a second, and he felt a deafening thunder weaving itself around him and through the beasts. The shock reverberated through him as they all dropped, reduced to chars. It was nothing like he'd ever seen before.

Vilkas turned around, and saw the mage exending both arms. He looked amazed himself.

Marcurio turned and dropped back into the shelter.

Vilkas sprinted back and jumped through the entrance, landing directly on the other man.

Marcurio winced under Vilkas's weight, and tried to push him off. Vilkas shot up and slammed shut the wooden panel.

"Shh..." He put a finger over his lips.

"Are there more?" Marcurio whispered.

Vilkas though for a moment.

"I don't know," He said finally. "There could be. But I guess we're safe for now."

Marcurio lit up the fire pit with a firebolt, then sat on one of the large benches in the wall next to him. "Vilkas..." His normally amber eyes glowed an unnatural, ferocious gold even in the dim light, "there's something going on with me."

"You're still sick, aren't you?"

"No. I feel great. Better than I've _ever_ felt, actually, even though yesterday I felt on the brink of death. It's odd..."

"What are you complaining about, then?"

Marcurio sat silently for a moment, as though gathering his thoughts.

"There were people... in the torture chamber below the college. I saw them before blacking out... I don't remember much, but..." He trailed off.

"What are you trying to say?"

"They had this skin, it was so white, so dead. And their eyes... they looked like demons."

Marcurio shuddered in horror.

He turned to Vilkas, his face sallow and eyes sunken.

"They just stood over me. Then one of them casted this spell. It wasn't one like I'd seen before. And they did... something... It's hard for me to remember. It hurt. It felt like the life was being sucked out of me. And then everything went dark..."

Vilkas didn't understand what Marcurio was getting to.

"Vilkas... they infected me." He said cautiously.

And suddenly, he understood.

"What were _they_?" Vilkas said, his voice shaking. He knew, though. He didn't want to hear it.

Marcurio peered at Vilkas, his eyes shining brilliantly.

"Vampires."

.

.

**Author's Notes**: **Hey guys! Sorry this chapter came so late, it was a long one, though. (Almost 5,000 words!) So yeah... How do you feel about Marcurio being a vampire? I think it will make for some interesting conflicts. ;) Thanks to everyone for sticking with the story so far, and more is to come, definitely! And as always, reviews are appreciated. :)**


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